


The Auction Block -  COMMISSION

by Commissions by Eonneo (Eonneo)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Auctions, F/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Whipping, Work, commission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:56:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonneo/pseuds/Commissions%20by%20Eonneo
Summary: A woman mysteriously turns up in the old world, just to be sold into slavery.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous commission about a woman being sold into slavery. Based on an art piece called The Auction Block. It'll be 60 pages once it's done. Work for a customer on DA.

The night was fresh, the moon hovering over the horizon with a lazy glow. A young woman had just gotten home to her apartment, exhausted after a heavy and busy evening of work. She flipped on the light, squinting under its brightness, and tossed her flat shoes to the door. As she walked towards her bathroom, she let her red, wavy hair fall into tangled, luscious swirls around her neck and cheeks.  
She entered the bathroom, feet silent on the cold tiles, and started the shower, sitting on the edge of the tub to feel for the perfect temperature. Once it was warm, the bathroom filling with steam, she undressed, letting her dirty clothes drop to the floor in a heap. She entered the shower, standing for but a moment, letting the warm water relax her tired muscles. Her hair became soaked and darkened, clinging to her shoulders.  
Washing off slowly, she began to relax. It was times like these that it was worth it to work hard. Her own place, content in her enjoyment. She didn't shower for too long, though, hoping to read a bit and eat dinner before she went to bed to do it all over again. So once clean, she relished in the warmth just a bit longer, then stepped out, cold air rushing over her. She quickly snatched a towel from the rail and wrapped up, stepping out of the bathroom to her kitchen.  
She decided to stay in the towel and leave her hair a bit wet, also wrapping a towel around it. There was a meal she had prepared the day before waiting for her in her fridge, so she warmed it up and went to her couch, watching the news as she ate. It was olive oil pasta with chicken. The herbs were flavorful and it filled her up quickly. She truly felt at ease.  
Still in her towel, she washed the dish and went to her room, flicking on the lamp and laying back on her soft goose down pillows. The room was a bit chilled, but under her comforter it was perfect. The book rested on her nightstand, titled, “The Auction Block.” It was enthralling and a bit scary in some ways, about a woman who was kidnapped and auction off as a slave. She had never read anything like it.  
So she curled up and opened the book, its old smell making her nostalgic. She read, interested and focusing on nothing else. Not the sounds of the outside city, car horns and dogs barking, but on the terrifying journey the woman in the book – who had no name – and how she experienced it.  
At some point in reading, she dozed off under the comfort of her bed. She slept deeply, unaware of the world around her. That was, until she noticed how hot she began to feel. She tossed, turned, throwing her comforter off and then next the towels, leaving her warm and naked in the bed. After she tried to cool down, her bed became hard, like stone, and a big gritty, as if it were covered in sand. It was unnerving, and slowly, she began to rouse from her sleep.  
But something was wrong. Surrounding her was a dim, stone house that had part of the ceiling broken off. The sun was blaring, hot, through the opening, sand blowing in from a rough, dry wind. She covered her eyes and sat up, feeling a mixture of sand and more stone beneath her hands and naked legs. She gasped at being naked in the unknown building. This had to be a dream.  
She stood up, unsure of her footing, feeling the sand between her toes. Looking up at the sun, covering her eyes, she began to breath hard. What was happening? Where was she, and how the Hell had she gotten here?  
There was a door at the edge of the building, and she went to it, tentatively looking out, trying to hide her naked form from whatever or whoever may be out. There were more buildings, most of which were dilapidated and run down. To her surprise were a few people, walking around the makeshift village with bags and baskets.  
Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she stepped back, huddling against the stone walls of her enclosure. At this point, she had no questions to ask, just horrid surprise at where she was. She felt embarrassed at being naked and scared. She glanced around the building to see if there were anything she could cover herself with, but there was nothing but pieces of wood and more stone.  
She had no time to process more when she heard screaming and yelling outside. She stayed put, not wanting to see whatever was out there. She just wanted to be back home in her bed, in the cold, and clothed. What in the fuck was going on?  
A figure ran by the door to her building. She gasped, and tried to hide in the shadows, but it was no use. The figure stepped back and stood in the doorway. He was a large black male, covered in fancy ornamental clothing, a black whip in hand and rope in the other.  
“I have one in here!” he shouted. He spoke in another language, and yet, somehow, the woman understood him. That took her off guard for just a moment, giving the man the time he needed to step over to her.  
“Get away from me!” the woman shouted, covering her bare body with her arms and running to the other corner of the building. The man was large and had a long stride and followed, tackling her from the back and pinning her against the wall. She yelped and attempted to struggle, but it was futile.  
The man's hands groped around her for a moment, before finding her hands and binding them against her lower back. He stepped away, holding on to a length of rope connected to her ropes.  
“Move!” he demanded, jerking on her. She fell over to her knees, scuffing them against the stone of the house. The man pulled hard, making her stand up. In instinct, she tried to use her arms to cover her exposed body, but couldn't. She flustered and locked up, unable to move.  
“I said to move, girl!” the man said in his strange language, rearing back and lashing the whip against her bottom.  
“Who the Hell do you think you are?” she retorted with a sharp yell. Her bottom stung harsh from the lash.  
“Move!” was all he said, giving no reply, but another lash. Not wanting to feel it a third time, she moved alongside the man, exiting the house, the sun dry on her pale skin. Outside, others were in the same predicament, men in fancy clothing and ropes and whips leading them down the streets, towards the edge of the village. Some had torn clothes, others were also naked, but none of them looked at each other.  
At the edge of the village, where the desert could be seen expanding on for miles, were carriages with camels leading them. The captives were being loaded into the backs. The woman felt exposed, but nobody was paying attention to her naked body. Not even the workers. They only looked forward.  
“Clothe them so the wind doesn't damage them. Nobody wants damaged goods,” one man said from atop a carriage. The workers draped beige cloths over the figures of the exposed. They hardly did anything, loose and dirty and itchy, but she felt better having something over her.  
She was loaded into the carriage with other females, some younger, some older, all looking at the wooden floor of the carriage. Outside, one woman attempted to fight her captor, yelling profanities and kicking. The man reared back and lashed her stomach and thighs, and she fell to her knees, crying. With a heave, he tossed her into the carriage floor, where she curled up, sobbing quietly.  
The woman noticed all these women were of dark skin, and she was the only pale, white female here. The workers and men were also dark. She did not fit in the slightest.  
After a few moments that felt like hours, the carriage began to set off, turning away from the broken down village. The woman saw it disappear into the desert as they went further, and it was in that time she began to panic and question everything happening. Was it a dream? It had to be. She remembered falling asleep, and then was here. Yes, she'd surely wake up soon, and would just relish in the strangeness.  
“Where are they taking us?” a younger woman asked. Again, it was in the strange language, but the woman was used to hearing it already.  
“To be sold,” another one replied wistfully.  
“Anyone talking will be punished accordingly!” a gruff voice shouted, and the women huddled to each other, saying nothing.  
It was hot and stuffy in the carriage, but the sun wasn't on them, the carriage covered, so she at least took solace in that. After a while of timeless traveling, she began to feel thirsty, and she could tell the others felt the same with the ways they licked and smacked their lips.  
“We need water!” one of the men from the other carriage shouted, his throat sounding as gritty as the sand underneath them.  
“Quiet!” It was spoken loudly, demanding.  
“They may die if they don't drink. A dead slave is a worthless slave.”  
Slave! she thought to herself, again feeling panic arise inside of her gut.  
The carriages stopped abruptly, and more men lead the women out of the carriage. They were lead to a trough at the front of the carriages, filled with water. One for the men, one for the women. All of them stood awkwardly around it, unsure how to drink.  
“Well?” one of the men grunted. “Drink now or die of thirst.”  
“You want us to drink like animals?”a man protested.  
“You should be grateful you get this. Now drink!”  
Without further protest, the slaves got to their knees and drank, taking in large mouth fulls. After hesitation, the woman did the same, the water cool and refreshing. She let it wash over her face, swallowing as much as she could at a time.  
It hadn't felt like enough even when the men over them pulled them all back by the ropes, water dripping off the woman's chin to be soaked by the dry desert dirt. They shoved all the slaves back into the cramped, hot carts, some protesting, but most accepting their fate.  
The woman wanted to protest herself. There was nothing right about this. She still could not fathom how the Hell she had ended up here from her cushy city apartment. Was it just some fever dream? Had she been sick, a fever turning itself into the hot desert? She didn't know, and really, her thoughts didn't matter, since she was here among the slaves.  
The heat was beginning to drain her, and others. Sweat glistened on her forehead, stinging her eyes, causing her hair to stick to her cheeks. Her hands were bound, so she couldn't relieve herself of the added discomfort. She began to feel thirsty again, too, but dared not complain.  
“Where are we going?” one of the females asked in a hushed tone. The woman was still unsure how she understood or spoke their strange language, but it came naturally to her, or as naturally as this kind of situation could appear.  
“Didn't you hear earlier? We're to be sold,” an older lady replied with a hiss.  
“I know that, but where?”  
“Wherever these heathens can make money off us. The nearest city is Jericho.”  
Some of the women gasped, while others looked solemnly at the floor.  
“The owners of Jericho are cruel as can be. We are doomed.”  
Nobody else spoke. The woman wanted to ask about the city, a sudden dread falling over her heart to hear that.  
“Where are you from, girl?” one of the other women spoke up to the woman as she thought.  
The woman pondered how to answer. She knew where she was from, but she also knew that answer would just make her look crazy. And looking crazy would probably end badly for her. She already didn't fit in, so why make it worse?  
“Just...not from around here.”  
“Obviously,” the older lady scoffed. “You'll sell quick. They love exotics in Jericho.”  
This only made the woman feel worse. To be a slave in an unknown world. What was happening?  
It didn't take much longer for the surroundings to begin to change, and the temperature to cool. It was welcomed, even in such dire circumstances.  
Through the canvas cover of the cart, the woman began to see buildings, dotting the landscape erratically. The sun dipping below the horizon. Dirt turned to rock underneath the cart, and torches began to brighten the darkness into the city.  
Finally, the carriages stopped, and quite quickly, the slaves were brought out, one by one. The woman only caught a glimpse of the surrounding city, lavish painted buildings with metal like decorations everywhere. Some people, dressed in robes like the men who had kidnapped them, sat around the slaves whispering.  
She was shoved into a larger, plain building, inside lined with makeshift cells. The slaves were crammed into the cells, males in one, females in the others, and along the crude bars were toughs, one with some mushy food, and the other with water. Only four torches lit the entire area, which was filthy. Underneath her feet, she could feel hay, smelling the humidity that grew between the bodies. To her relief, though, her binding ropes were cut. She rubbed her wrists softly as she sat on the hay, feeling the imprints.  
Listening closely, she heard the masters of the slaves discussing their fate.  
“It's far too late for the auction tonight. Keep them well fed, bathe them in the morning, and then we sell.”  
“We have some that may not make it until morning.”  
“Toss out the dead tomorrow. It's no problem. But make sure that girl,the pearl coloured one, is well cared for. She will go for a high price.”  
They continued to speak as they walked out, leaving two more men to stand guard over the slaves. The woman panicked again, terrified of being sold as a slave. She huddled against the wall, holding her knees, while the other slaves ate their mush, shoveling large handfuls into their mouths. Maybe she would sleep and wake up to her soft bed and the city skyline at her window.  
Somehow, she managed to fall asleep, as did the other slaves, huddling up as the desert's harshly cold night seeped over them.  
***  
She awoke to banging on the bars and the heat back on her face.  
“Wake up! The day is here!” a slave master shouted, as another opened the door. One by one, dressed masters took out handfuls of slaves, coaxing them to another part of the building. The woman waited to go with her lot, when the man who had originally captured her walked in, rope in hand and whip in the other. She wanted to fuss, but knew better, looking down at the red mark across her stomach.  
He tied her, and led her out of the cell and through a corridor. At the end was a lone door that they entered, a large bath having been drawn. The room itself was not bad looking, a few pillars and fancy stone tiles. A table with a cloth towel was next to the bath.  
“Clean up,” the man instructed, releasing her hands again. They both stood there in silence for a moment, the woman nervously looking between the bath and him.  
“Well? Get to it!” he demanded, reading his whip back as a threat.  
“W-with you in here?” she stuttered. He simply laughed, a large, bellowing sound.  
“You take me for a fool, trying to escape. Clean up, now, before I make you,” he then growled. “And clean well!”  
Her heart racing, she went over to the bath, slowly peeling the canvas clothing off of her body. She turned away, so the only thing present was her bare ass. Glancing over her shoulder, the man seemed indifferent to her naked body, maybe used to it from years of gathering slaves. No matter, she still felt ashamed, entering the delightfully cold water and quickly rinsing off the sweat and dirt that had caked onto her body and hair.  
“That's enough, now dress,” the slave master demanded, and without hesitation she listened, drying off halfway. The clothes she had been given were hardly enough to cover her. A large silk cloth that would cover her top, barely, and a skirt with a tail at the side. She glanced at them nervously, then back to the slave master. He tightened his grip on his whip, scowling.  
“Do not make me tell you again,” he said.  
“Yes, sir,” she answered by instinct, putting on the clothes and at least thankful for some cover, the both the shirt and skirt were not desirably long.  
She stepped back to the slave master who again tied her hands and led her out of the building. She witnessed other slaves being cleaned up as well, with one or two fussing while the masters forced them clean.  
In another room was a table covered in food that the slave masters were eating from. They hollered and cheered at the work they had done and at the money they were going to make, but some stopped to glance at the woman.  
“Oh my, she is gorgeous. She will make someone very happy.”  
“She could make me a happy man!”  
“Have you lost it? Arthur would have your head! She is worth more than three of the others! Healthy, full and so exotic!”  
The men continued to coo as she was seated.  
“Eat, and eat well. And do so quickly,” her slave master ordered. A man who looked like a slave with a purpose came by, dropping a full plate of meat and bread in front of her. The slave master untied her hands again. She was starving, having avoided the mush from the night before, and ate heartily, giving no mind to the eyes watching her or what her fate may be.  
She ate two plates before she said she was done. Her slave master nodded in approval and for a third time, tied her, leading her out of the building where the other slaves were being dolled up for the auction. It was up another hall they went, with two large closed doors at the end of it. She began to hear voices, loud, some cheering, some angry. At the door, it was apparent that she was hearing the auction happening.  
“Yes, sold! Please, when the auction is over, come to the holding cells to claim your prize!” spoke a man loudly and clearly.  
“Now listen closely,” he began next, and the commotion died down. “We have something very special and exotic today! A woman from somewhere we don't know! Hair the color of fire, skin of a pearl, and a healthy body! She is priced high, and will go quickly, so please, consider you bids thoughtfully!”  
The doors opened, bright sunlight flooding her eyes. She tried to protest slightly, not wishing to be sold, but the slave master pushed her out. Her feet burned just slightly from the hot sand, but as her vision came back to her, she saw she was being placed onto a large wooden block, atop a sort of stage. Standing around the block were an array of men, all gasping and wide eyed at her.  
At the block were chains, and quickly, they were tied to her feet and hands by two other men. She struggled a bit against them once they were placed, head spinning from the nervousness she felt. This was real. This was happening. She was a slave to be sold, and only the Lord knew what her fate would be after that.  
The men in the crowd all gawked at her, whispering among themselves, some already shouting bids before the price had even been set. She shuttered slightly in her chains, and as she focused on the reality around her, she realized that there was a particular man right below her, looking directly up. She then realized she wore no underwear, and that the man could see her bareness. She tried to close her legs, but the chains kept her spread and easily visible to all.  
The man set the price. She had no concept of their money and was unsure if it were high or low, but when he said it, there were a few murmur of complaints. It wasn't long before people started bidding. It was quick at first, then it slowed down some. It was nearly to a halt, the price set, when the man who was right below her raised his hand and mentioned a price that was double what the others had said.  
They all gasped, two men cursing him violently. Even the auctioneer seemed surprised, stuttering a moment before he spoke. He asked if anyone wanted to bid again, but was met with silence. He nodded towards the man below her.  
“You win! At the end of the auction, please, go pick up your prize!”  
The girl's ears began to ring, and she felt her heart flutter. Her stomach twisted into a nauseous circle, and she didn't fuss when her slave master came and undid her restraints, leading her back into the holding building. The man was about to put her back in his cell when another man came up to him.  
“Winner of her bid says to make sure she's fit. Bathe her, feed her, and dress her nicely. He's willing to pay.”  
“She bathed and ate.”  
“I told him that we do this for most slaves. He said to do it again, and emphasized good clothing.”  
The slave master thought for a moment, then nodded.  
“Of course. As the buyer wishes,” and then led the woman back to the baths. He instructed her to bathe very well, and to take her time, and she did, this time feeling little shame in being naked. Next, she was fed again, though she could hardly eat with her nerves. Finally, she was taken to be fitted in fancy robes and a dress, similar to what all the men around her wore. At the end of he dolling up, she was taken to a cell that had light furnishing and two water pitchers – she assumed one for drinking and one for cleaning.  
She waited, and waited more, the night beginning to fall and the air chilling. She had hoped maybe the man had backed out. Maybe anything had happened and she would not be sold. But the slave master appeared, tied her arms, and led her to the front of the building were her new master awaited.  
He was tall, older, built well but not large. His face was quite handsome, with a square jaw and smooth, short hair, truth be told, but she felt no better about the situation. The old slave master handed over her ropes, and nodded.  
“You have the best one we picked up.”  
“I'm aware,” the man said, and nodded back, turning to lead her out of the building. Outside was a carriage led by camels. It was larger than the one she had been brought to the city with, adorned with metals and other decorations, and was driven by a man. Her slave master led her into the carriage, the inside cushy. They sat, and the carriage set off.  
“I am Arnelius. I do not care for your name, as it doesn't matter. Your purpose is for me now, and if you cannot fulfill it, you will end up as any sick animal may.”  
The woman just stared at him without a word. She felt tears try to well up in her eyes, but she did her best to show no weakness.  
“Don't cry. You will be fed, live well in my home, and have access to clothing and baths. But you are still a slave, and I still own you. You will do as I say, when I say.”  
“You have camels. If you like animals so much, why not buy one of those cheaper?”  
The man smiled, surprisingly.  
“Because I cannot do to a camel what I wish to do to you.”  
She swallowed, hard. She knew what that meant, and she hated it.  
The rest of the ride was silence. It didn't feel like too long before the carriage stopped, the night air still around them. Taking her ropes, Arnelius led her out of it, his house resting in front of them. It was large, pretty, atop a hill and in the distance rested the town.  
Inside was just as pretty. Everything Arnelius owned was pretty and decorated. He had money, somehow.  
“I have guards. If you try to run, you will be punished. If you do escape, I will find you. I have friends everywhere.” His tone was set, dark, and serious. He knew what he wanted and how to get it.  
He led her to a room, and inside was quite pretty. It even had pieces of art, of buildings and plants. A small window sat high up.  
“You will live here. I am tired from my day. I will see you in the morning, though.” The man said nothing more, cutting her ropes, and shutting the door. She heard something slide to be in front of it, and assumed it was locked. He would not leave her without it locked, of course.  
She paced at first, nervous. This wasn't a dream. She would've woken up by now. It was too long to be a dream. This was real, by some horrific turn of events. She was a slave, to be used and nothing more. How had this happened?  
Tiredness began to seep over her, though, and she could not ask any more. The bed looked inviting, and so she curled up in it under the blankets, a bit cold. Her muscles ached some. But soon, she was asleep, and she dreamed of home.  
There was a knock on the door that awoke her. She opened her eyes and jumped out of a bed. A man she didn't recognize walked in.  
“Breakfast. Come eat. Arnelius wishes to see you. You will walk without restraints. Do not try to run or fight me.”  
She said nothing, following him through the halls. The dining room was quite large, and men and women cleaned. There were two tables, a large main one that Arnelius sat at, eating thoughtfully, and another one to the corner where some of the servants ate.  
“Sit with me,” Arnelius commanded, and so she sat. Her stomach twisted in both hunger and sadness.  
“Eat,” he then said. She wasn't going to argue, very hungry and a bit exhausted from her events still. She did not recognize the food, but it was good. Not very rich or flavorful, but it was food.  
“Where are you from?” Arnelius asked.  
“Not from around here,” she said pointedly.  
“Obviously, girl. But where?”  
“That doesn't matter, does it?”  
Arnelius pursed his lips and looked displeased.  
“It doesn't. But I won't take such tone. Watch yourself and know your place.”  
Everyone continued to eat. Once finished, the servants began to clean up quickly, and Arnelius walked over to me, waving his hand.  
“Let's go.”  
I sat in my seat, unwilling to move. Arnelius did not like this, and he roughly grabbed my upper arm.  
“It was not a suggestion. Get up and move,” he growled with a shove. I did not hesitate further, letting him lead me to what I assumed was his room. A large bed with a canopy sat in the middle, a small bath to the side, a fireplace on another.  
“Undress, now,” he demanded, pacing slowly to his table and grabbing a whip.  
“Why? You're just going to beat me.”  
He took a deep breath.  
“I will do worse if you do not stop with this attitude. Undress now. I am impatient.”  
She looked at him with anger in her eyes. She was a slave, but she was also a person. The two stood each other down, until Arnelius had had enough, moving quickly, smacking the whip on her right thigh. She yelped, hard, and rubbed it.  
“Undress!” he yelled, this time hitting her right leg. She again yelped, but quickly obliged, letting the robes slide off her form and heap onto the floor. Arnelius stood back, looking in awe at her naked body. She wanted to cover up, but didn't, the stinging strips on her thighs reminding her.  
“Wonderful. To the bed.”  
“Why don't you just please yourself? You like using your hands so much,” she spat, becoming enraged at him.  
He stepped to the side, hitting the whip across her rear. She grabbed it instinctively, gritting her teeth. Arnelius then pushed her to the bed, and she fell over it. She tried to push off, and when she felt Arnelius touch her hips, she swatted him away, kicking once but missing.  
“You are too much of a fuss, girl,” he said, taking the whip and tying it in a rough not over her arm. His hand moved to rest at her neck, shoving her into the soft, silk fabric of the bed. She felt him fuss a moment behind her, then could feel his member between her cheeks.  
“Don't argue with me again, or things will turn out much worse.”  
With a quick shove, he entered her. It was dry and stung. She had never had sex before, and her body was not prepared for it.  
He didn't move, leaving himself there for a moment to adjust, his fingers tightening around the back of her neck, tangling with her hair.  
She grit her teeth more, between him entering her, and the stinging of her whip marks. This was Hell itself, she believed.  
Arnelius moved slowly, making no sound, but he thrusted hard against her, the bed even shaking. After a moment, his foot kicked her legs apart further, and he moved a bit quicker, grunting with each movement.  
After a moment, he released, digging his nails into her soft skin. She closed her eyes, feeling the release over her rear and thighs. When finished, he sat there a moment, catching his breath, than he sat up, letting her lay there tied, composing himself.  
“This is how it will be, when I want. Understand that,” he assured her, letting her arms be free. She slowly pushed up, uncomfortable with the stickiness between her legs, standing in an awkward half squat. She felt disgusted, used, unclean, and sore.  
“Clean up over there in the tub. It should still be quite warm.” She wanted it to be scalding, to wash away everything. It was just quite warm, though, and she washed and scrubbed as much as she could.  
Arnelius sat in the corner of his room, reading over something, making notes on whatever he was reading. He didn't even bother looking over at her, the only comment he made rushing her to hurry up, and to make sure she washed her hair again. She felt too exhausted to argue or make any comments, and obliged, her head swirling at this life she had been forced in to.  
She finished, stepping out, slightly better feeling. Drying, she dressed again, then stood awkwardly in the corner, awaiting Arnelius to notice her. He did after a few minutes, tossing his reading material over to the desk.  
“Can you read?” he asked.  
She wasn't sure if she could read the script the people likely had, though. She could understand them by some black magic, so she just assumed yes, nodding.  
“An educated slave. Wonderful. I am a man of education myself, teaching all that I know around here. I am a scholar of much.”  
The woman didn't reply, because she didn't really care what he was. To her, he was a monster and a rapist.  
“If you're good and behave, I can teach you much. But that's only if you act as I ask. I give no rewards to those who do not earn them.”  
“And I earn them by letting you use me as an object?”  
Arnelius sighed, crossing his arms and looking quizically at her.  
“You are an object. I paid for you. I own you. You are an object.”  
“How am I any more an object than, say, the people you teach? We are all humans. Are they objects?”  
Arnelius laughed, pacing over to a window. The woman could see the city outside it.  
“Absolutely not. They are my equals, and I respect them dearly.”  
“How am I different?”  
“Because I paid for you.”  
She looked confused, holding out her arms in dismay.  
“This is your life. You were put into it. Accept it, and stop questioning it. As I said, education – philosophy – it is a privilege you must earn from me.”  
She had much more to ask, but left it. Arnelius began to leave the room, motioning for her to follow, and she did, still feeling some of his release leaking out of her. She tried to ignore it as best as she could, hoping she'd be lucky enough to forget it ever even happened.  
“What skills do you have?”  
She said nothing, unsure of what he wanted to hear.  
“Well, it matters not. You will learn to clean, cook, sew, and whatever else I need. You will earn your keep here, or as I said, I will rid myself of you.”  
He stopped at a room and looked in. It was the kitchen, with a few servants in there cooking lunch for everyone.  
“Listen here,” he called, politely almost, and the servants stopped immediately, looking at him with reverence. “Teach our newest member to cook. I want her helping with lunch. And teach her to cook my favourite.”  
He coerced her inside by tapping my back, and in she went, the heat of the fires waffing over her. Mixed with the already warm, humid desert air, it was miserable, her hair sticking to her face. A woman in the kitchen gave her a small tie made of some scratchy material, and she used it with grace.  
Arnelius shut the door and to her blessing, left. He didn't want to look at him after what had happened. She could forget it now and focus on something more natural.  
“I'm Hayala. You cook, girl?” the woman who gave her the tie asked. She was short, dark, and her hair was cut like a man's. She wore no shoes, her left foot deformed slightly to the point she paced with a limp.  
The woman already knew how to cook, so she hoped she could impress, even if she didn't know their ingredients.  
“Yes, some, but I know dishes from my home.” She thought this may open more discussion to where she was from, but Hayala shook her head.  
“You learn to cook with my ingredients.” It wasn't a question, but a solid statement. She waddled over to a counter that had some kind of meat on it.  
“Lamb. We are cooking with grains we traded for. It is an easy dish, with sauce, and our lord Arnelius loves it. So learn it well. Watch,” the woman commanded, and so she did. She noticed in the corner of her eye one of the male servants watching her intently, but ignored it. She did not care for a man's attention at this point.  
Hayala swiftly began putting ingredients around, seasoning them, cutting some, slicing others. She tossed a big hunk of meat into a large pan, searing it over the open fire in the middle of the kitchen, throwing on more seasonings. She then tossed the grains into a large black cauldron, stirring violently.  
“You stir, I seasons. Watch how I season,” she said, and of course, the woman listened still, fascinated by how well she knew what she was doing.  
Hayala threw in a handful of different seasonings, but the woman really didn't know what was which. She went to ask, but Hayala just insisted she watched. So she did, trying to remember closely which spice jar she went to and how much she grabbed.  
After more stirring and the sticky heat of the kitchen, the meal was done. A few sides of different vegetables were cooked quickly, and then the servers began tossing portions onto plates. Most of the servants had smaller portions, and when it came time for Arnelius', Hayala insisted it be large. It hadn't been but a few hours since breakfast, so the woman was unsure of how he could eat so much again, but she did as she were told.  
“Good. We serve. Go.” Hayala's tone was on point and there was no room for suggestions. The woman quickly made her way down the hall, trying to remember where the dining room was in the large house. After some turns, she was there, Arnelius sitting casually at the same seat he sat at for breakfast. He made no expression to show he was pleased with the food or the woman.  
She set it down, then with instructions, sat down in front of him again. She didn't feel too hungry, but tried to eat what she could of the meal.  
“This isn't bad, but no great. Do better next time,” Arnelius said with distaste. She wanted to protest and say that Hayala did most of the cooking, but did nothing. She didn't need to make enemies in this kind of environment.  
Once lunch was finished, she was sent to do the dishes, and instructed to do them quickly. And so she did, with the help of a few servants. Next was the laundry, most of which were Arnelius', but some belonged to the servants. The woman was beginning to feel exhausted, but there was more work, the next step being to care for the camels and other farm animals around. It was hot and humid out, her hair sticking to her face and sweat dripping heavily from her forehead.  
She saw the town in the distance, all the free people, and longed to be back home, and not out on the farm working like a man. This was not her time or place, and there was no reason she should be there. She still pondered hard on what sorcery had done this, but knew there would be no answer.  
It was beginning to cool, and she was done with most of her hard work. Arnelius called her in to his room again, and she felt nervous, wondering he were going to want to take her body for himself again. With reserve, she entered it when he called, bracing.  
“Girl, I am having guest tonight. Clean off the dirt and dress well, and cook up something nice with Hayala.”  
“Yes,” she stuttered, not wanting to argue if he weren't trying to force himself on her. She left, quickly, finding the bath house. The water was cool, but she accepted it to bring off all the dirt and grime, feeling relaxed as she cleaned off. One of the servants knocked and dropped clothes off at the door. They were the typical fancy garb she had seen the many people of the nation wear.  
Dressed and cleaned, the night air falling over the house, she went inside to the kitchen, Hayala already at work on some unknown meal. All she really had the woman do was fetch spices, stir, and drop in ingredients. Hayala did all the thinking for what went in when, and the girl was fine with that. The foods were foreign to her, and she'd have no idea how to make them right, surely angering Arnelius.  
As the cooking died down, she began to hear mixed voices coming from another room. They were loud and obnoxious, and she figured it were his guests. Dressing the serving tray, she walked steadily and with purpose, not wishing to give Arnelius a reason to punish her. In the room were a few men, all very different from each other. One was young and scrawny, another large and well fed. When she stepped into the room, they all stopped their laughing and loud chatter and looked at her with wide eyes.  
“It is true! How did you afford that?” the large man said.  
“Hard work,” Arnelius said shortly.  
“Wow. Where is she from?”  
“Not sure. But I don't care much.”  
“But think of the money you could make selling others!”  
“Then she wouldn't be so exotic, would she?” Arnelius sounded a bit irritated.  
“Fair point, my friend.”  
The men went back to their usual chatter.. The woman and the other servants served the dishes and wine, and the men kept consuming. Towards the end of the night, most of them seemed drunk, stuffed, and out of their heads.  
As the woman was stepping out to take the dirty dishes to the kitchen, one of the men, the scrawny one, said they needed to use the wash room, and asked her to lead him to it. She obliged him, and the two stepped out. The washroom was at the end of the building, and there seemed nobody around.  
“Here you go, sir,” she instructed, quickly stepping by him to go to the kitchen. His hand lifted up to her stomach, stopping her.  
“What say you come with me. I'm sure I'd treat you better than Arnelius.”  
The woman took a quick breath, surprised.  
“N-no,” she replied quietly. Sure, she wanted out, but this didn't seem right. It felt wrong all over.  
“Why not?” he slurred, stumbling just a bit, nearly knocking her over.  
“Uh...Arnelius....bought me. I'm his, I suppose.”  
“Who cares about that? He don't deserve you anyway. I have wealth. I have power. And I can have you.”  
“I...need to get to the kitchen,” she tried, pushing away, but both his hands groped around her stomach.  
“You'll be mine,” he hissed, grabbing at her breasts and thighs. She attempted to shove him this time, but he was larger than her, pushing her against the wall. The dish plates clattered to the hard stone floor, and the loudness disoriented her.  
He pressed himself against her ass, his face next to hers. He smelled of bitter wine, disgusting and strong.  
“Come on, woman.” He tried to pull her clothes off, but was struggling under his drunken stupor.  
“You!” Arnelius' voice rang loud, clearly, bringing the woman back to her senses. The man who had been groping her jumped back, tripping over a decorative vase, breaking it and slamming to the floor.  
“Arnelius! She came onto me!”  
Arnelius' face scrunched into a crude snarl.  
“Is this true?” he demanded of her.  
“Absolutely not, sir! What kind of person do you take me for?” she whimpered, pressing herself against the wall. “He tried to get me to run with him! As if I'd ever run away with a pig.” She hoped he believed him.  
“Arnelius, you're not going to believe a slave over me, are you?”  
“Oh, but I am, as I know you too well.” Arnelius stormed over, picking up his companion by the arm, dragging him down the hall as he protested and yelled. “Woman, go to your room!” he yelled back at her, as their voices faded.  
She obliged, not even bothering to pick up the fallen serving plates. In fact, she was near happy to be away from working and other people. At her room, she practically crashed on the bed, her limbs exhausted. There had been a lot of work in the day itself, and she knew tomorrow would only be the same.  
Before she fell asleep, Arnelius barged in. She sat up abruptly.  
“Did he defile you in any way?” he interrogated.  
“No, sir,” she said.  
“And you did not lead him on?”  
“Absolutely not.”  
He looked at her hard, then nodded.  
“I'll believe you.”  
“Thank you.” She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so obliged to respect him. Maybe she had grown to understand her situation in the day, and her place within the world. This world, that was not her world.  
“If anyone tries to touch you, inform me. I will not have it. You are mine, and solely mine. I did not pay so much for you to share you.”  
“Yes, I understand.”  
“Good. Be ready in the morning. There's much to do.”  
He stepped out without further word, leaving her to her room. Another knock came, and a servant brought in some of the dinner Hayala had cooked earlier. She ate it happily, starving after the events, then curled up in her bed, quickly falling away to nothingness.  
She awoke to the dawn, and made haste to dress and go help with breakfast. Nobody had commanded it, but she assumed that would be where she belonged for the morning. This time, Hayala let her cook a bit more, picking some seasonings, explaining their flavors and how they affected the food. She truly had food down to a science, even if science didn't truly exist to these people.  
At breakfast, they ate quickly, and Arnelius explained the day's plans.  
“I've been invited to a powerful man's house. You will go. I must show my wealth as best as I can. Clean, dress well, and do not disappoint men.”  
She rubbed her sore thighs under the table, both from the whip marks and from working. She wanted to do anything but leave the building, but she didn't argue, helping to clean up the dining area. She bathed, dressed, and met Arnelius at the front of the house where his camels and carriage were being set up.  
“It's a long trip, pack water and light food,” he said, and they did.  
Two servants went along with us as we loaded into the carriage, and two more sat at the reigns of the camels. The carriage was shaded, and the woman welcomed it, the heat of the desert strong.  
They moved for a while. Slowly, it seemed. A dust storm kicked up, and we had to hide under a large rock formation. It was there we ate lunch and hydrated. The woman remembered drinking water out of the trough, like an animal, and welcomed the small canteen Arnelius had presented her with. It gave her a bit of energy again.  
As the dust died down, they continued on, and after what felt like an hour, they arrived in a small village, not much unlike the town Arnelius lived in. The carriage stopped at a house even larger than his own, almost like a castle. Servants welcomed us in, taking the carriage away.  
Large stairs led up to the intricate palace, with designs, statues and an array of expensive decorations adorning it. A truly rich man lived here, and she wondered the looks of the kind of man who owned it.  
Inside was just the same, and the servants took them down a long hall. At the end seemed a sitting room, with paintings and furniture. It was even quite cool temperature wise, and she welcomed it after sitting in the stuffy carriage.  
They waited for a while, and Arnelius was offered wine. He declined, and sat still and tall. Eventually, a door opened, and a man walked in. He was young, quite young, and in his own way good looking. His eyes fell over the woman, but he said nothing to her.  
“Arnelius, it is truly good to see you. Are you well?”  
“Yes, Caesar. And you?”  
“Outstanding. The town does well.”  
The two talked empty politics, then Caesar sat down in front of us, across a table.  
“And what is this you bring here. A gift, perhaps?” he teased, smiling at me.  
“No. She is my personal assistant, and an expensive one at that. Exotic,” Arnelius explained, finally taking a sip of the wine he had been given.  
“Expensive, you say? Why so?”  
“Look at her. Nothing like her around. Her skin is of milk, and soft.”  
“I see. And you will not sell her at all?” Caesar asked, raising a brow, sitting up and sipping at his own wine. He did so slowly, thoughtfully, looking at Arnelius with almost a challenge in his eye.  
“Absolutely not. She is priceless.”  
“Everything has a price, Arnelius.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the woman's journey continues, she finds out how valuable she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of this BIG commission from DeviantArt! Hope you all like it!

“Yes, and this one is priceless. I did not spend so much to sell her.”  
Caesar looked thoughtful, then nodded.   
“I understand, then. Even if that is so, I am glad to have you and your treasure here with me. Tomorrow we're going to have a great event, talking business and whatnot. You're the most important representative I have for this, so I thank you for being here.”  
“Of course,” Arnelius said.  
They spoke more, the woman numb to it, still ab it struck on how badly Caesar had wanted to purchase her. Why was she so obviously just an object to these people? She spoke like them, dressed, ate. And yet, she was lesser.  
Caesar and his servants served them dinner.. It was rich and filling, and the woman liked it better than what Arnelius' servants served. He was a bland man, it seemed.  
After dinner, Arnelius insisted that the woman share a room with him. He would not have her out of his view, and in a way, she was glad for that. She didn't have it in her to be thrown around to a bunch of men.  
The room itself was comfortable as well. Far more decorated than her own room. It had two beds in it, and the larger one she assumed would be for her master. Inside, Arnelius washed up, instructing her to wash.   
“We may be at a guest's, but I have needs that I want met tonight,” he began. “And while I will not whip you here, if you deny me, you will be whipped when we return home.”  
The woman sat on her bed, looking outside at the sky. The air was thankfully quite cool. She sighed inwardly, and thought about her situation a bit more. As bad as it were, Arnelius at least believed her that his 'friend' was the culprit to their bad situation, and not her. And he had not sold her off to someone else for more money. That was something worth being happy about. Maybe, at least. She saw no reason it wouldn't be.  
“Yes...master,” she said, standing, walking over to him. He had a cold look on his face, standing with his arms crossed, eyes emotionless. Tentatively, she placed her hand over the crotch of his pants, kneading just a bit, looking at him with large eyes. His muscle twitched, just slightly, and even on his lack of expression she could see he was starting to enjoy it. So she knelt down to her knees, still using her hands to massage him. Slowly, slid his pants d down, exposing him. This was the first time she had seen his length, and he was quite endowed.  
She let her hand tease the shaft, sliding gently, leaning up, her tongue lightly caressing the tip. He uncrossed his arms, his hands moving to her head, tangling in her hair just a bit. Her mouth then went over the whole thing, her fingers still stroking the base, her eyes looking up at him. His lip twitched, just a bit, before he closed his eye, taking in the feeling. Her tongue swirled and flicked, head moving back and forth over him, saliva beginning to drip over her lips and him. She amazed herself even with how deeply she could take him, and she knew he enjoyed it with how hard he was holding her hair.  
She sped up some, both her mouth and her hand, until she felt him tensing hard, releasing himself into her mouth. She wanted to spit it out, but had a feeling this would upset him, and so with a quick swallow, she took in all of him and her loose saliva. He pulled away, gasping a bit, quickly pulling his pants up.   
“That is what I paid for. Good. It seems you're...finally understanding your place,” he admitted, pacing over to his bed.   
“Thank you,” was all she said. She didn't like it. But she had decided she would do what would make her life easier here.   
“Tomorrow is a big event. A lot of businessmen. You will serve them and serve them well, as I have the potential to make a lot of money here. You see, I wish to expand the school I am teaching. I wish to spread the freedom of education around.”  
“You seem to value education,” she replied, going to her own bed, exhausted.  
“Of course. It is everything in this world. It is what has allowed man to advance so far. It should be the ultimate goal of everyone.”  
“Including myself?” she pondered.  
“Yes, but you must be educated differently than others. You must be educated in serving and pleasing. I must educate in mathematics, philosophy, and the arts. But you must learn to serve.”  
“But what if I wanted to learn more?”   
“It is not useful to you, and as such, you do not need it. D o I make myself clear, woman?” He sounded a bit irritated, and the woman nodded, not wishing to upset him after she had just pleased him. So the two lay down in their respective beds, both of them falling asleep quickly.  
The morning came quickly, with Aenelius rousing the woman and sending her with Caesar's servants to begin cooking. Arnelius had her dress in a scant silk outfit, to stand out from the others. He was going to use her to represent his own wealth. She would never mention it out loud, but Caesar likely had far more wealth than her owner. The kitchen was ornate, marble and other stones, with expensive looking cookware and foods she had never heard of.   
She knew little cooking knowledge still, but managed to impress Caesar's cooks with what she did know. All she was doing was making the lamb that Arnelius so loved in larger quantities, but she would not tell them her secrets.  
Passing by a window, readying the dining room, she saw many people pulling up in carriages. Some were bland, some were decorated, and the people who stepped out of the carriages dressed respectively to them. They all looked rich, though, and the woman wondered what kind of business meeting was going on. She wouldn't have even guessed business meetings existed in this era.  
Once the food was set, the business members – all of who had set up in Caesar's gathering room – began to pour in, giving hushed tones of amazement over the dining hall and the pleasant smells of its contents. The woman watched Arnelius from the other room come to a sat near the front. He seemed indifferent to the people around him, focusing straight ahead. He was a strange man.  
With the guests set, the servants began their job of serving. When the woman came out, all eyes were upon her, many already asking questions. Caesar walked in from the other side, a long blue silk gown upon him.  
“That is Sir Arnelius' servant. Is she not beautiful?”   
The servants – even the women – agreed, gawking. The woman felt a bit nervous, the outfit she wore not very long, and her skin obviously standing out. But, at the same time, with Arnelius watching closely, she decided to try and be prideful of who she was. She was a servant, but she was better than the others. Exotic. Worth more. Her situation was not good, but she would make the best of it.  
“Arnelius, you have such taste. How do you do it?” An older man asked between bites of his food, chewing slowly.   
“It is a gift, on top of my years of experience. I always make the best business deals,” he assured them, and they all murmured more.   
“So for the important part of this day, let us discuss. I am hoping to send men north for trade. I hear there are many fabrics, spices, and other tools to the north, but the journey is dangerous due to hostile natives between here and there. The journey, if successful, will be worth the money, though.”   
“Is money worth the life of men?” Arnelius questioned. A few agreed, but most said nothing.  
“That is where we need funding on this. We will give the men armor. Horses and camels. Weapons. And there will be many.”   
“Paying for men to risk their lives is not cheap. Are we sure the items we will receive will pay back the trip?”   
Caesar nodded furiously, taking a small bite of his lamb.   
“Absolutely. A long while ago, the journey was made by a now passed member of our society. And he was rich from it.”  
The members muttered some more, a few asking for refills on their wine and plates. The woman was ushered over, the older man who spoke earlier gawking at her rear. Arnelius noticed, scowling at him.  
“In fact, if you have men or servants who can go, all the better. Weapons. We will take all kinds of offers. And my promise,” Caesar paused, smiling largely at his guests, “Is to double – maybe even triple - your investments.”   
This brought a roar upon the crowd, some calling him a liar. The servants all shuffled nervously, and the woman had to wonder if he were lying.   
“It is true. I have studied this quite a bit.”  
“I do not believe that. Spice and clothing can be worth that?” spoke a woman.  
“Spice, clothing, and who knows what else.”  
“And what happens if the men die?”  
Caesar sighed thoughtfully.  
“That is a risk we must take, for the return.”  
Still, the members of the party seemed distant. The woman stood awkwardly, knowing she had no weight on the situation itself.  
Caesar looked over at her, then his eyes seemed to light up mischievously.   
“There may even be more women like her,” he shrugged dismissively, pointing to her.   
That caught the attention of most of the men. Between that, and the promise of riches, most of them agreed to send what they had with Caesar's business. A few still resisted, but more than enough for Caesar's liking agreed.   
“I will be sending myself and my servants along the way, Caesar,” Arnelius said, breaking the hyped up talk of the room, crushing it with silence.  
“You cannot be so certain, Arnelius,” Caesar gawked.  
“I am certain. I will bring my own supplies, my own men, my own carriage, and so on, so I will not have to offer you anything, and my return will be my own.”  
Caesar thought on this, his face unreadable. After some time, he nodded.  
“Of course, then. But if you die along the way, all your assets will become mine.”  
The woman thought Arnelius would disagree – he was a man who seemed to like his possessions – but he nodded.  
“I will be dead and will not need them.”  
This made the woman nervous. She was used to being Arnelius' by now, and did not like the idea of being left alone with Caesar.  
“I will offer an abode for your fine miss here,” Caesar said, nodding to her.  
“No, she is one of the servants who will come with me. She will cook and clean for me.”  
Caesar's face scrunched in a scowl at this.  
“That is unfair. She will be put at risk. She is far too priceless – your works – to be out in the open.”  
“She will be fine and by my side at all times. If I die, you can send her back to you to own. I say that as a verbal contract now.”  
Caesar again thought, but finally accepted, murmurs breaking out along the table.   
The servants were rushed to feed more, offer more drinks and then clean up as the party dispersed. The woman was sent back to her room, where she awaited Arnelius' return.   
“Do you think it's a good idea to go on this trip?” she asked when he entered. She sat in the corner of the room, washing off. She was naked, and covered herself a bit, but not much.  
“If I did not, I would not go. I believe there is money and riches awaiting us, but I refuse to share it with Caesar, or anyone.”  
“But you offered your possessions to him if you die?”  
“Yes,” Arnelius reiterated, pacing to his bed. “I am dead then, and do not need them. But for now, I live, and I want more.”  
The woman said nothing else, trying to clean herself from the sweat and dirt that caked her soft, pale skin.  
“In wanting more, that means more relief tonight,” Arnelius demanded, though he had little volume to his voice.   
With hesitation, the woman stood from her bath, refusing the instinct to cover her chest with her arms. She remembered Arnelius' threat to do away with her if she did not deliver, alongside her general fate of belonging to him. She had to be good. It was her life now.  
So she walked over to him slowly, swaying her hips, hair drifting around her cheeks and shoulders. Arnelius just stood, arms crossed, staring at her with a harsh gaze. Once to him, her left hand wrapped around his side, the other one beginning to need the crotch of his pants. She didn't have to do this long to feel him become hard, and so she get to her knees, looking up at him with big, round, eyes, and pulled his cloth pants down, revealing him.  
With one hand, she teased him, her tongue flicking the tip of his member in quick bolts. His hands dropped to her hair, tangling it just a bit, the grip tightening when she took his entire length into her mouth, still stroking the base with her hand yet moving her head. Sometimes, she went quick, other times, she went slow, teasing him heavily. He was breathing, hard, but this was not enough in her mind to please him.  
So she stood up, holding her chest out, and gently pressed him to the bed. He followed her lead, positioning himself at the head of it, sitting up. The woman crawled onto it, up to him, chest hanging low over the silk sheets. She continued over him, her breasts teasing his member, before her hips were lined with his. She did not move to let him enter her, though, rubbing herself over his length tentatively, breasts in his face.  
Arnelius took hold of her ass, tightly, obviously caught up in the moment and her looks. She felt powerful in this moment, controlling the man who thought he controlled her. He did. He owned her. But just for a few minutes, she would reverse that.  
Without even using her hands, she was able to move him inside of her, member slick with her saliva. His grip on her hips tightened ferociously, head tilting back just slightly. Moving up and down, with a steady, but quite slow, pace, she felt him fill her, and it began to feel quite good to her. She would quicken her pace, and he would seem right at the edge, just for her to stop abruptly, watching his face twist in near anguish at her temptations.  
His hips began to move under hers, but she pressed on his chest.   
“I am here to please you,” she whispered. He said nothing in reply, but stopped moving, letting her hips grind again. Another few minutes, and she felt she had teased him enough and done her job well, so she sped up, digging her hands into the sheets by his sides, breath coming in short gasps and she tried to keep the pace. With a loud groan, Arnelius came, releasing himself into her. She felt it, her thighs becoming sticky, and considered her job done well.  
Once finished, she crawled off him, legs a bit wobbly, and went to the bath to clean again.  
“That was surely worth your cost, woman,” Arnelius admitted, cleaning himself up before crawling into his bed.   
“I'm glad.”  
“The details for the trip are tomorrow,” he added. “After that, we go back home and prepare. I have much to do. Go to the school and make sure my students and colleagues are prepared. I think you will go with me, as a representation of what education and wealth can do.”  
“You mean, what not being educated can cause? Such as being a slave?” she joked.  
“No,” Arnelius said with disdain, “That being rich, educated and powerful and let you buy the most exotic and attractive of servants.”  
“So I'm there to flash your wealth?”  
“Yes, precisely.”  
“Why not just bring a bunch of money? It's all the same, isn't it?”  
Arnelius seemed offended at this.  
“Absolutely not. You are far more impressive than a bucket of coins, and far more difficult to obtain.”   
“If you say so,” she sighed. They said nothing more, Arnelius going to sleep, and the woman soon following, lost in thought of what else her days as a servant would hold.  
In the morning, Arnelius left with little goodbye to Caesar. They were to return in a week's time with their own food, water, men and whatever else to last the journey. This gave Arnelius time to prepare. As we neared his home town, he said he wanted to stop at his school. Outside, it wasn't too large, but had statues and other decorations outside.   
Inside was about the same. A few people were minding their own business – with some eyes upon the woman. Arnelius greeted them as he passed. He was particularly kind to the women he met, and for a moment, that angered the woman herself. She was no different than them aside from her skin, yet they were free to do as they please.   
Upon Arnelius' room, it was very simple compared to the rest of the building. Large and round, with a small desk in the center.   
“In the corner is a broom. Sweep the floor and seats before class starts,” he commanded, readying some papers on his desk She did as she were told, letting her bitter thoughts swirl with the dirt at her feet.  
Once done, she took a seat at the side of the auditorium. Students began filling in, many whispering about her and her beauty. Arnelius ignored it. There were about 20 students in total, most young.  
“Welcome to class, as always,” he began. “I first want to inform you all that I will be leaving for some time on a small journey. You may consider this a break from all your hard work, though if you would like to study, you may read my book that you all have copies of – handwritten by my servants. Today's lesson will be short and sweet; about the roles people play in life.”  
“Over here is my most recent purchase,” he considered, pointing to the woman. He then motioned for her to step up to the podium, and she did.  
“Exotic. Unique. Unlike anything. She was very expensive, as well. And through my education and hard work, was I able to purchase her. And because of her lack of education, and lack of hard work, here she is, owned by me.”  
“It is especially important to the women here to stay educated, so you do not end up like her. Study hard. Work diligently. Never rest in the eyes of education”  
He continued on for some time about his studies, and relating it to the students' lives today. They all seemed intrigued, though some eyes still stayed on the woman.  
When class was over, Arenlius asked the woman to again sweep before they left. This irritated her, but she did it.  
“Now, let's return home and prepare the carriages for our journey.”  
At the house, the servants worked quickly preparing dried foods, medicine, and other things. The woman was tasked with washing all the dirty clothes, then sweeping out and dusting the carriages. It was a particularly hot day, and she would rather be inside, in the cool, but she did not complain.   
With provisions settled in two carriages, there was nothing left to do but await the day. When it came, Arnelius, the woman, and other servants traveled to Caesar's home again. Many other servants and large, fighting men were awaiting outside, preparing themselves.  
“Arnelius, are you sure you wish to go along?” Caesar questioned as he walked up to him.   
“Yes,” Arnelius replied shortly.  
“As you wish. But our deal is still honored. If you perish, I get the girl.”  
“I will be dead. I do not care what happens to my possessions then.”  
Caesar said nothing, though his gaze seemed a bit harsh. He then left to prepare his own things.  
Arnelius' affair was already set, so the two simply sat in the cool carriage, eating some bread and cheese until it was time to set off. It was likely high noon, and the heat was a bit strong, but the group seemed stronger. Ten carriages, many men, camels, servants and food. Caesar waved his goodbyes and stood at the entrance of his home, watching the carriages set off.  
“Woman, while we are here, I want your services.” The two were in the carriage alone, and while she didn't feel entirely up to it, she obliged him, stepping over to him and resting upon her knees. Quite slowly, she kneaded through his pants, looking at him with big eyes, until he became hard. Slipping his silk pants down, freeing him, she teased with her hand, her fingers skittering up and down the length. She then used her palm, pumping quicker, though slowing, to edge him. Leaning in, her tongue brushed the tip, moving down the length and up again. He tensed under her, but said nothing. Once she felt he had been teased enough, she took him entirely in her mouth, her head bobbing, tongue sliding over every inch, covering him in saliva. It did not take long for him to release entirely into her mouth. She felt the need to spit out his orgasm, but didn't for fear of offending him, swallowing it all.  
“You truly are becoming a better servant,” he complimented, pulling up his pants. The woman took her place again on the other side of the carriage, taking a canteen of water and sipping it thoughtfully. There was something to be said about her purpose to him. She had meaning. Though people thought she was worthless as a servant, she had plenty of worth in her talent for pleasing her master.  
The first day of the journey was short, setting up camp in a circle. Arnelius asked the woman and Hayala, who had come along, to cook something. The woman took some dried meat from a carriage and began cooking a stew of sorts. The smell tempted her, as she had not eaten all day. She knew Arnelius ate first, though, and prepared his plate, taking it to him in the carriage. He did not thank her, and ate quietly, while the woman prepared dishes for the other servants. She then ate hers in the carriage with Arnelius – she was the only one allowed to share the carriage with him. It tasted wonderful, and even more she gave herself worth with her talents. She was the best out of all the servants  
Quickly, she washed, using little water as they had to spare it. They would come across a village on their journey, and could refill their supplies, given they all weren't slaughtered on the way. Caesar had made it sound like it would be dangerous – but she hoped he was wrong, as did they all.  
The camp settled and most everyone fell asleep, aside from some guards. They slept during the day while they traveled. Near Arnelius in the cabin floor, she fell asleep quite quickly.  
At the morning, she was one of the ones to rise first. Before Arnelius even rose, she began making breakfast for him and the servants, most of which was leftover stew. She awoke him gently with water and the breakfast in hand, and he seemed pleased with this.   
Again they set off, and soon, came across the village. It was very small, but the people seemed friendly and welcoming. Arnelius instructed the woman to stay in the carriages at all times. He said he didn't know these people and he would not be stolen from; especially not his most prized possession.  
So she sat, listening as the people loosely told of their journey and bought up more supplies. After some time, she noticed a creaking coming from the carriage door. It opened, slightly, and a man peeked in.  
“It is true!” he squealed, though looked around to make sure he was not heard. He then stepped into the carriage, and the woman began to feel a bit concerned. Who was he? Arnelius would not approve.  
“Woman!” the man began. He was older, a bit large. “Come with me and live like a queen!” He seemed a tad drunk.  
“No, sir,” she politely said. “I belong to sir Arnelius.”  
“Who?”  
“My master.”  
“Forget him! I will treat you far better! I am rich and educated!”  
“As is my master.”  
The man scowled, and seemed a bit disappointed.  
“I do not care who you belong to. I want you, and I will have what I want,” he growled.  
“You must take that up with my master,” she said pointedly, knowing damn well Arnelius would give her up for nothing. She was that great.  
The man came up to her and took a handful of her upper arm. She yelped as he drug her out of the carriage. She tried to resit, but could not.  
He began to run with her, but she could not keep up. The other servants from the convoy began shouting and yelling. The woman called for help, and soon, help came, one of the large guards running impressively fast for being so big. When he caught up, he knocked the man in the head, hard, and he fell with a thud.  
“I deserve her more!” he yelled, loudly. The woman stepped back, Arnelius coming up to her. By this time, the town had circled around the situation, and the woman felt exposed. This was exactly what they didn't want to happen, and she understood why Arnelius had told her to stay in the carriage.  
The guard then restrained the man with ropes, leaving him in a heap on the ground.  
“Tell me why I should not have him killed for theft,” Arnelius demanded, looking at the group of villagers. None of them spoke, but the man cursed idly.  
“Is this nothing but a village of low-life thieves?!” he demanded to know, face quite furious looking.  
“Watch your tone!” spoke an older woman, stepping over to the man. “Why is my husband like this?”   
“Husband? He is a thief, attempting to steal my property!”   
“You are a greedy man!” she spat at his feet.  
“I would rather be greedy of my own possessions than a thief of others!”  
The townsfolk all began to seem irritated,, murmuring, some shouting for the convoy to leave.   
“I will happily leave this pathetic excuse of a town!” Arnelius swore. “And you are lucky I do not burn this village to the ground now!”  
“We are leaving!” said the head of the group, a young, virile male.  
Quickly, the camp packed, the village cursing and throwing things at the carriages. Without hesitation, they took off. Arnelius sat quiet, pondering in his corner.  
“I cannot stand thieves,” he finally said. “I worked hard to be where I am and to have what I have. They can do the same!”   
The woman said nothing, but nodded.  
“I am sorry it happened. I want to be loyal to you.”  
“Good,” was all he replied.  
After they were a good bit away from the village, they again set up camp. The woman had to wash clothes, sweep out the carriage, and again cook food with Hayala. The camp felt very tense after the events, but nobody said anything about it. Fear definitely had been put in them with Arnelius' outburst. None of them dared to even look in his direction or stare at the woman.  
She fed him first, then the rest and herself, and the two went to sleep in their carriage. The woman dreamed of Arnelius outside the village, laughing manically, burning it down, with the woman sitting at his feet. And a bit of her thoroughly enjoyed the image.  
She awoke before him, or anyone else in the camp for that matter and made preparations as she was used to. At the smell of food, the convoy began to awake, Arnelius not long before. It was in the midst of their breakfast that a lone rider appeared in the distance on a caravan. The guards of the convoy became anxious, alongside the other members, and they quickly garnered a defensive position.   
“No need for that,” spoke the oddly familiar voice of Caesar himself, his face becoming clear in the desert heat. As he walked by the convoy, the guards lowering their weapons, he glanced over the woman with hungry eyes, and she had a bad feeling about him. She had felt that way since he tried to lay claim to her from the beginning, insuring that he would own her if Arnelius died.   
“Caesar, what are you doing? We have already nearly been attacked once, and we have not been here long,” spoke the head of the convoy. The woman had never gotten the names of most of the people, only Arnelius' servants.   
“I felt quite guilty. To send you all on this mission when it was my idea.”  
“That is what those with money do, though.”  
“I am no better than you all just because I have riches,” he assured, but the woman was not convinced he felt that way. He seemed charming, but a venomous snake. She glanced at Arnelius, but his face never truly showed what he was feeling. But he was not a dumb man and she felt safe to assume he felt the same as her.  
“Caesar, this truly is dangerous. You should turn back. We will send a guard.”  
“I made it this far, did I not? I will be fine. I want to make sure I get my part of the riches, anyway.”   
The leader of the convoy hesitated, but nodded.  
“As you say.”  
“I smell food,” he pointedly said, stepping off his caravan and looking back to the woman as she stood near the pot of stew.  
“Would you care to fetch me some food?” he asked her.   
“You can have your own servant gather it, Caesar,” Arnelius replied.  
“Arnelius, surely she can bring me a meal as she is there.”  
“She is my servant. I brought my own services here, and she is not to be shared.”  
Caesar's face twitched, but he nodded.  
“As you wish, Arnelius.”  
So one of the other servants got the food, Caesar sitting by his own wagon.   
“Woman, you have chores to do, so do not waste time before we leave,” Arnelius reminded. She did not argue, cleaning the eating plates and doing some laundry, though there was very little. She noticed Arnelius wanted his clothes cleaned far more than the others. He did seem much cleaner, and much healthier in general.  
While she did her jobs, Arnelius preached his philosophy and education to some of the other members. They didn't seem to quite grasp mathematics and philosophy, but they seemed interested in his intelligence.   
The woman tried to listen, feeling a bit of pride in that he was the one to own her. At least she was not owned by some dirty, sad brute. Though she stilled longed to be free from the desert, the heat, and being owned. She missed her bed and her studies and everything about home. She had been a virgin before this, but no longer. It hurt, but she tried to ignore it, focusing slowly on her current life and jobs.  
The convoy went to set off again, packing quickly. Arnelius made sure she stayed close to him in the carriage. It was just the two of them.  
“I...don't trust Caesar,” she admitted quietly, hoping she had not overstepped her place. At first, he said nothing, and this worried her, but then he nodded.  
“As I don't.”  
“He's sneaky. Charming, but fake.”  
“He is a leader. It is what they do.”  
“He wants me.”  
“He can want all he can. He will not have you.”  
“What if he tries to hurt you?”  
“How will he?”  
“He has power. He could paid someone to hurt you.”  
“He can try if he likes.”  
The two spoke no more, and the woman was unsure of how to take that. Was Arnelius really not afraid of death? He focused so much on his possessions in this world as he lived, but he did not care to die and lose them all. She was terrified of death and pain, and it was the only thing keeping her subservient to him. But he had no real fears that she felt.  
They came upon another town. Larger, and the people seemed quite friendly, in opposition to the dangers Caesar had mentioned. They resupplied and were eating lunch when a man surrounded by guards came up to them. He was a short and fat man, quite repulsive. There was apprehension in the group, but the guards stayed at rest.  
“Hello!” he began. He spoke like he had a mouth full of cotton. “Welcome kindly to my city. I rule here with a friendly hand, and love to see more travelers come in.”   
Caesar stood from his seat and greeted back with a smile.  
“It is quite good to be here! I am Caesar, and I come from Jericho with my convoy! We are just coming through, and will cause no problems. In fact, we have spent gold here.”  
“I am King Ary. You need not worry, we feel no threat. Why are you traveling, if I may ask?” Ary questioned, going over to the pot of food in the center of the convoy, sniffing loudly. He intteruped Caesar.  
“This is marvelous! Who cooked it?” he bellowed.  
“That servant!” spoke one of the convoy members without much heed. His eyes glowed, but the woman didn't like this pig of a man looking at her.  
“You don't look like you need any of it,” she shrugged, though felt just a bit guilty. She really didn't care, though. She was tired of the gawking eyes and the hungry men.  
“Well, I,” he stumbled, but said nothing, turning back to look at Caesar, who spoke as if the interaction didn't happen.  
“We just travel to buy things for our town. Spices and such.” He was lying, obviously. They were searching for riches, none of which this city had. But the woman figured it was best nobody outside knew what their motives were, lest they want the riches for themselves and attack the convoy.  
At this time, Ary's eyes fell over the woman. He said nothing, though, at the foul gaze of Arnelius, looking away quickly.   
“I see you are many. That is strange for a simple resupply convoy.”  
“We had many people wishing for supplies, so they sent many people.”  
“And guards, even?” Ary's eyes, which were already squints, seemed to close entirely in suspicion.  
“It is just precaution, King Ary. Truly, we are just humble travelers.”  
“Well, you are welcome here,” he said politely, stepping back to the front. “Buy all you need, and I sent my well wishes with you.”  
“Thank you, Arys,” Caesar said gratefully, waving as Arys bid farewell. Arnelius immediately instructed the woman to get into the wagon, and she did. She waited a while before he entered, hearing him speak to the other members of the convoy.  
“Until we leave this town, you will stay in here.”  
“I have chores to do.”  
“I will give you a break this once.”  
“You don't trust Arys.”  
“I do not trust anyone.”  
“I worry he might eat us,” she joked, but Arnelius didn't laugh, a bit caught up in his own thoughts. He then again left the caravan, instructing others to do her chores for the day. One of the servants brought her dinner, and she ate it, wishing she could take a bath. The desert air was hard on her, and by the end of each day, she was covered in sweat. Water was scarce, though, and Arnelius would not let her out of the caravan for much other than to use the restroom.  
Finally, she slept, but was awoke during the night with a hand on her mouth. She yelped, but was silenced, being lifted off the caravan floor and drug outside. Nobody from the convoy was awake, the guards at the very front of the convoy unaware in the darkness.  
“Do not scream or you will die,” a gruff voice said, and it terrified her so she listened. The man, who she could not see, carried her through the streets practically, and she lost track of where they were. That was, until she came upon a large palace, and she knew exactly where she was and what was happening.  
“This is for that pig, Ary, isn't it?”  
“Don't speak of the king like that.”  
“The first pig king! It's a miracle!”  
“Quiet!” he demanded. She sighed. She knew the king would not have her hurt. He wanted her in pristine condition, so why was she scared of the dumb brute that had her?  
The castle was just a straight hallway, with two hallways off to the side, many doors dotting them. Marble statues lined the halls with plants. She wasn't even sure how Ary could walk through the whole place to enjoy it.   
At the very end of the main hall was a room. The man shoved her in and slammed the door. Inside sat Ary upon a bed. He looked like a ball of bread dough someone had dropped on a table.   
“Beautiful woman!” he teased.  
“Arnelius will be mad to find out about this.”   
“Arnelius is in jail for theft,” Arys said slyly, grinning.   
“I can tell you now that I refuse to serve you,” she shrugged. Arys frowned.  
“You are a servant. You do not get to pick who you serve and how.”  
“I do. And I only serve Arnelius.”  
“Woman,” he began, heaving himself off the bed. “I have good money. I am a king. I am better than anyone.”  
“I've heard that so many times, it's unreal,” she said,  
“None are like King Ary!”  
“You're right. None are as fat as you.”  
His face turned bright red, like a tomato, and he scoffed.  
“Woman, undress!”   
“No.”  
“Then we will lock you up until you decide to listen.”  
She was quite fed up with all of this. The men hungering after her. It was undesirable. She'd take serving Arnelius over it any day or night.  
“Then lock me up. Please. I'd rather be anywhere than here.”  
Ary waddled over to her and slapped her. It was hard, but nothing outstanding, and she stood back up. “Fine. Where's the 'dungeon'?”   
Ary hollered for a guard, and one emerged immediately, dragging her to the far end of the hall as Ary cursed behind them. The 'dungeon' was outside the palace, far to the right, and was a small building. Inside were sealed rooms. As the guard went to put her in one, she had a fond idea.  
“Guard,” she began. “I find you quite desirable.” She used her most seductive tone to him, swaying her hips as she walked in. He seemed to hesitate.  
“Moreso than a king, even. Riches don't please me. If you get me and my friend – he's an older man with slicked back graying hair, large build – out of here, I'll let you have me as much as you want.”  
“That is against Ary's wishes,” he hesitated.   
“And? He will not know.”  
“You'll escape. He will know.”  
“I escaped on my own, for all he knows. Stole the keys. Let out my friend. Easy.”  
The guard still didn't seem convinced. So she stated to undress, but not exposing herself fully. This put the guard at the edge of his desires.  
“Okay,” he stuttered, stepping into the cell. The woman walked up to him, swaying her hips again, smiling and pouting. When she walked up to him, she began to tease him with her hands, all over his body. At his hips were the keys to the cells. She had noticed the cell had the number '4' on the front, and the keys were also labeled.  
She motioned for the man to get on his back on the floor, and he did, starting to slide his pants off, quite obviously hard. In that moment, she slipped the keys from him, stepping back as quickly as possible outside of the door and slamming it. She locked it. He began to curse, but she ignored him.  
“Arnelius,” she hollered.  
“Here,” he called from the first cell. She went to him and unlocked it. He seemed fine, aside a bit upset.  
“How did you manage that” he questioned as he stepped out, the two of them walking from the dungeon.  
“These men are all easy.”  
He said nothing more about it.  
“Ary is a sly and dirty pig,” he spat. He seemed to know where he was going, and led the two of them through the streets. It was s till quite dark, and she wondered how he knew where he was going, but never questioned him.  
Soon, they were at the convoy, with Caesar and guards awake.   
“Arnelius! Where have you been?” he demanded.  
“Kidnapped by King Ary,” he replied dryly.  
“What?”  
“Yes. Kidnapped by the king. Both me and my servant. We must go, now.”  
Caesar seemed quite suspicious, but nodded, awaking the convoy and setting them off. Arnelius and the woman sat in their wagon, listening to the sounds of the town disappear. Arnelius and the woman had gotten a meal to sit and eat in their wagon. It was cold stew, but it filled her well.   
She noticed she still had the guard keys and laughed a bit.  
“A souvenir of their stupidity,” she said to Arnelius, flashing them.  
“Of course. That was the dumbest king I have ever seen.”  
“And the guard.”  
“Foolishness. Uneducated,” he muttered.  
With the woman being full, her and Arnelius lay down, both quite exhausted from being up half the night. She was glad to be back where she belonged and not naked underneath a fat king.   
As they went, the woman began to wonder how and why Caesar had noticed they were gone.


End file.
